


Dirty Laundry

by plutonianshores



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores
Summary: When Caleb runs into the man whose house they're casing out, he distracts him with sex like he's done many times before. He doesn't expect it to upset him, and he certainly doesn't expect the rest of the Nein tonoticehow upset he is.





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the Critical Role Kink Meme as a fill for [this prompt](https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/3194.html?thread=788858#cmt788858). Caleb doesn't have a good time in this fic, and although it's not something I'd tag with the Rape/Noncon warning, it's certainly Bad Idea Sex with a very skeevy man.
> 
> Yasha is off adventuring elsewhere during this fic ~~because I started writing it during one of Ashley's absences and forgot to give Yasha dialog~~
> 
> Thanks to T for betaing and brainstorming!

Even as he peered through Frumpkin’s eyes at the manor across the field from him, counting every doorway and window, Caleb felt Nott’s fingers stutter at his wrist and then disappear. He felt the unfamiliar hand lock on his shoulder a split second before he jerked back to his own body as well, and managed to suppress his shiver at the unexpected contact.

"Who might you be, kitten?" The man standing over him smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"A visitor. I was looking for the apothecary, but I seem to be lost--"

The man stroked the back of Caleb’s neck with his thumb. "You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? This is my land, and no genuine traveler would have any reason to be here. You, my dear boy, are trespassing."

Caleb hadn’t been called a boy for years; it made his skin crawl. "I’m sure there is some way I can make it up to you." Easy enough to read where this was going.

The hand on the back of Caleb’s neck moved to caress his cheek. "With a face like that, you certainly could."

As their lips met, a familiar voice filled Caleb’s ear.  _ Caleb, do I need to shoot him? You can reply to this message! _

Caleb pulled back. "If I come to your bed, can I count on your discretion, and that of your staff? You have no maidservants inclined to spread your dirty laundry across the town?" The rustle in the forest behind him, quiet enough that only Caleb noticed it, told him that Nott had understood what he meant. They’d run Dirty Laundry many times before, and while she was never fond of letting him out of her sight, they both understood that his persuasion could get them places that theft could not. He hadn’t thought it would be necessary now that he’d taken up with the group, but if Lord de Wit wanted a somewhat willing body in his bed, and it would save Caleb’s neck...it was nothing he had not done before.

"You don’t need to worry on that account. I can assure you, my staff are eminently trustworthy." De Wit slid his hand down to Caleb’s waist, his grip no less frightening for no longer being directly over Caleb’s jugular. "I hope that settles your concerns."

Caleb craned his neck to kiss de Wit again. "Would you show me to your room?"

He had to fight to keep his breath from quickening as de Wit led him into the manor. He’d done this before, he reminded himself. He’d followed more dangerous people into more secure buildings and walked out alive. De Wit was a bad enough man that none in their group, even Caduceus, had felt guilty about stealing from him, but from what Caleb had seen of the man, he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

That didn’t stop his heart from racing as he followed de Wit further and further inside, until they reached his bedroom. There were no windows, and the flicker of lamplight on the walls made it seem claustrophobic despite its size.

Caleb shook the fear from his head and knelt on the ground. He had the feeling that de Wit would want a somewhat eager partner. Some of his targets had wanted a man who would put up a fight, but de Wit seemed the sort who wanted to win Caleb over with his cock. So Caleb looked up at him with wide eyes and his lip between his teeth, hoping his flush looked like arousal and not regret.

His read must have been close, because de Wit was hard as a rock when he undid his trousers. He laid a thumb on Caleb’s lips, pushing his jaw open with a gentleness that made Caleb feel worse than a slap to the face would have. The ones who wanted him to hate it were so much easier; less pretending was necessary with them.

Caleb put a hand on de Wit’s ass and pulled him closer, taking his cock deeper into his throat. Breathe in, breathe out, let de Wit fuck him rough if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to, it seemed, curving his hand around the base of Caleb’s skull and sliding in gently as Caleb yielded to him. "You  _ are _ good at this, kitten."

Caleb suppressed his shudder and made himself moan. De Wit’s eyes narrowed in pleasure. His fingers played through Caleb’s hair. Caleb wanted to shove his hand away; he  _ liked _ it when people touched his hair, and he didn’t want any part of this to be enjoyable. De Wit pushed further into his throat, making him gag a bit, enough to distract from de Wit’s hand still stroking his hair. Then finally, finally, de Wit began to thrust in earnest, wiping all thoughts besides  _ breathe _ and  _ relax _ out of Caleb’s mind.

A year ago, he could have done this all night. Two years ago, he  _ had _ , sucking off all comers in a tavern to pay off the money Nott had stolen from its owner. And now he could barely take one, panicking every time de Wit’s cock hit the back of his throat.

De Wit pulled away, leaving Caleb gasping for air. "You’re good with your mouth." He ruffled Caleb’s hair, heedless (thank the gods) of Caleb’s discomfort. "But I want you on my bed."

"Yes, sir." The words rubbed Caleb’s throat raw, but he thought he’d managed some semblance of enthusiasm. He got up, knees protesting, and tugged his trousers off before laying down on the bed.

De Wit slapped his ass. "As pretty a sight as that is, kitten, I want to see your face. I’m sure you’re even prettier when you blush."

More time pretending, then, modulating his facial expressions and moaning at the right times and looking de Wit right in the eye while he pretended the bastard was doing him a favor. It shouldn’t matter. He should be happy that de Wit had gentle hands and none too strange tastes. He shouldn’t have to fight so hard to keep his hands from shaking.

Caleb rolled over and bit at his lip, hoping he looked alluringly eager rather than nervous. "Like this?"

"Perfect." De Wit slicked his fingers and worked his way inside Caleb’s ass, achingly slow. Caleb would rather de Wit take him dry, give him a reason for his racing heart and the screams welling up in his throat. Caleb shut his eyes and focused on crying out at the right times. He felt his face grow hot—good, de Wit would enjoy that, just as he was enjoying the feeling that he was taking Caleb apart with his fingers before even fucking him.

And then de Wit slid into him, still slow and careful and agonizingly painless. Caleb’s breath still caught in his throat. "Please," he murmured, winding his legs around de Wit’s waist. "Harder!"

"Since you asked so nicely," de Wit said, fucking into Caleb harder. Caleb let his head fall back and stopped trying to stifle his cries. De Wit enjoyed this just as much as he’d liked playing at the compassionate lover, and Caleb could pretend his panic had a reason. 

Years ago, in Ensburg, he’d promised himself to a sharp woman with cold eyes, and their first night together she’d choked him until he feared for his life. This was  _ nothing  _ compared to that; compared to what he’d done for a bit of food or to stay out of jail. 

De Wit at his roughest barely made Caleb ache. He spent himself at last and withdrew, gathering Caleb in his arms. Caleb returned his kisses, praying he could slip away soon.

Soon enough, de Wit fell asleep, arms still heavy around Caleb’s shoulders. Caleb extricated himself, slipped his clothes on (quietly, quietly) and snuck out of the house, making sure to glance around for any easy points of entry. Back to his friends, now, and hopefully his damned hands would stop shaking before he reached them.

He had no such luck as that, and of course his compatriots noticed. Not at first – no, at first they were only happy to see him safe.

"I did tell you," Nott said as the rest of the group rushed to him, but Caleb could see the relief in her face as well. "We’ve pulled Dirty Laundry enough times."

" _ Ja _ , _ ja _ , I am fine," Caleb said as he fought the impulse to shrink under everyone’s gaze. Just a bit more conversation and he could convince them to let him go to sleep, and by morning he would be fine.

Nott looked at his hands, and then up at him. Caleb shook his head, subtle enough that perhaps no one but Nott would notice him, and she nodded. They would talk about it later, then, when there was no one else around to overhear. She knew he didn’t want attention called to this, that it would only make things worse.

Alas, he could not count on the rest of the group for discretion. As soon as Jester caught sight of his hands, she gasped. "Caleb, you’re shaking! Are you all right? Do you need healing?"

"I am  _ fine, _  I  _ told _ you--" Caleb jerked away from Jester’s outstretched arm. "Don’t touch me!"

Jester backed away, hands in the air and an apologetic expression on her face. "I won’t, I promise. I didn’t know."

Fjord looked between the two of them, and then back at Caleb. "Care to tell us exactly what this Dirty Laundry of yours entails, Caleb? Because you sure don’t seem fine."

Caleb glared at him. "I ran into Lord de Wit during my reconnaissance. He suggested a way I could avoid being arrested for trespassing, and I took it. Nothing I have not done before."

It gave Caleb a perverse sort of pleasure that Fjord seemed to immediately regret asking. Unfortunately, the others didn’t take the hint.

"And does it usually leave you shaking like a leaf? Because I’m seriously considering tracking de Wit down and punching his face in." The anger on Beau’s face sent a stab of panic through Caleb, even though he knew it wasn’t directed towards him.

"What good would that do? I did this so we could avoid drawing his suspicion. If you attack him for taking something I willingly gave, then everything I did goes to waste."

"Was it willing?" Caduceus’s soft-voiced question hit Caleb like a punch to the gut.

"Willing enough." He’d been unwilling before, in other circumstances. He’d had people hold him down and take what they wanted. He’d gone right along with what de Wit had asked of him, he had no reason to be shaking or – shit, he was crying. "I could have burned him to a crisp if I didn’t want it. Going along with what he asked was simpler." Caleb’s legs had begun to shake as well. He sat down on the ground, dirt be damned. The whole group was staring at him with the most disgusting pity on their faces. He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

Nott sat down beside him. She didn’t touch him, she knew him better than that, but she stretched out her hand towards him. "You could have called us in. None of us would have been angry about that."

"I know." Caleb slid his hand to meet hers. "I chose the con. It was the easiest way forward."

"Did you always feel like this after?"

He could hear the hurt in her voice, and he hated himself even more for breaking down. "I’m afraid I am no longer used to it."

"Oh, Caleb."

Her pity rankled a little less, but still made him shudder like someone had run their hand the wrong way up Frumpkin’s back. "I will be fine, Nott, I promise."

Beau sat down on the ground across from him, resting her arms on her knees. "Maybe we find a different way to do things going forward."

Caleb glared at her. "I am doing what needs to be done. I didn’t see any of you taking concern with Fjord when Avantika took interest in him."

Jester and Caduceus looked at Fjord, and Caleb regretted his choice of example.

"Well." Fjord plopped down as well. "Mr. Clay did ask if I was all right. And I wasn’t, really."

"That’s all right for  _ you _ ."

And Caduceus sat down as well. "But not for you?"

Caleb fought back the urge to throw sparks in all of their smug and pitying faces. "It is late, and I am tired, and I have no wish to have my brain dissected tonight. But if you are interested, no, it is not all right for me. I am not a strong person, I cannot punch my way out of trouble. I can do two things – set fires and let people use me. When the former isn’t feasible, the latter has served me well." It sounded rather sad, laid out like that. Caleb was beginning to understand the pity.

"But now you have friends who can punch you out of trouble!" Jester fanned her skirt out and sat down between Fjord and Clay. "So you don’t have to do that anymore, right? We can punch them for you."

Caleb found himself smiling at her. "I am not sure you will always be here to punch people for me, or that punching people is always the best solution."

Nott squeezed his hand. "This was a bad solution, Caleb. We aren’t alone anymore."

She had a point, as loath as Caleb was to admit it. "I will take all of this under consideration."

"That better mean you won’t do it ever again," Beau said, but she looked much less angry than she had when Caleb first returned.

"I’ll make sure he doesn’t." Nott grinned at Beau, and Caleb knew she would hold him to it.

"You will be the death of me," he grumbled, but there was no bite to it. There was something gratifying about being worth protecting.

The rest of the Nein gradually dispersed, leaving Caleb and Nott alone. "Want me to braid your hair before bed?" she asked.

" _Ja_ , that would be wonderful." When they had been on their own, he had asked Nott to braid his hair when he wanted to wipe the feeling of unfriendly hands from his mind. He hadn’t thought that she’d realized why he was asking, but it seemed he had underestimated her.

Caleb fell asleep that night replaying the memories of Nott’s fingers threading through his hair and his friends ready to fight anyone who had hurt him. De Wit’s touch never once crossed his mind.


End file.
